


Death Falls from the Sky

by mute90



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alien Invasion, M/M, disaster setting, man of steel (superman) setting, mentions of Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mute90/pseuds/mute90
Summary: When Lydia said Stiles was going to die, Derek Hale was confident he could save him. Nobody expected it would be a threat too big for even him.Man of Steel (2013) setting





	Death Falls from the Sky

_When Stiles was a kid, he’d ran through the rain screaming that the sky was falling. He knew it was stupid, but it was a serious downpour and his feet sank into puddles up to his ankle. It seemed serious, world-ending in a way that brought out his most dramatic side._

_It figured the world would show him some real world-ending crap._

 

\--

 

Derek tumbled through his window, rolled once, and laid still. Stiles was already at his side checking his pulse before he realized, “This is the freaking fifth floor. How did you - you know what? Forget it.” He tapped Derek’s cheek. Derek groaned, weakly slapping at his hand. “That’s nice. Is there anything I need to do? Are you poisoned? Dying? Derek?”

 

“Just...rest…’m healing,” he mumbled. He lifted one arm with what looked like considerable effort and draped it over his eyes.

 

Stiles let out a heavy sigh, but he pulled a thin blanket from atop his couch. He dropped it over Derek. “Fine. Just...don’t die over night. If you do, I’m dumping your dead body somewhere really shitty. I’ve been in Gotham two years, man; I know places.”

 

Stiles went to bed with Derek hopefully not dying in his unnaturally small living room. He hadn’t seen Derek since high school graduation two years before. He sat in the crowd and clapped loudly and proudly and like he hadn’t been incommunicado for over a year. Scott had smiled and raised a hand in greeting. Stiles had turned in his seat and gave a casual head nod. He’d felt something uncoil in his stomach knowing that the human disaster was still in one piece, but he’d burn in the fiery pits before letting that show. Still, Derek had smirked back at him. He’d stayed for the weekend before leaving to meet up with Cora. He’d left a number, and there was a rarely used group chat. Every two months, Stiles asked him if he was still alive.

 

Stiles checked his phone. Six weeks ago, the answer was, “Still alive. Shut up.”

 

“A human disaster,” Stiles muttered. Then, he tossed the phone aside and fell asleep/

 

He woke up to Derek coming out of his bathroom with wet hair and still pulling on a shirt. In Stiles estimation, he looked fine. Really, he was on the typical Derek level of unfairly pretty. Stiles rubbed at his eyes and snuggled further into his bed. “So, you’re not dying,” he mumbled.

 

Derek rolled his eyes. “I told you I was healing. It’s not a big deal.”

 

Stiles’ eyes were half-closed, but Derek was delusional if he thought he’d commandeer Stiles’ floor without an explanation. “Who did you piss off with your sunny personality?”

 

Derek left the room, casually throwing back, “A trigger-happy hunter.”

 

Stiles turned his face into the pillow for a moment longer, despaired at a Saturday morning sleep-in lost because of Derek Hale, and rolled out of bed. He shuffled to the living room with stiff limbs and bedhead. “A hunter? What hunter? Do we know who it was? Are they still looking for you? Oh god, are they going to bust in here and shoot us both? You know I’m still painfully human, don’t you?”

 

Derek went into his refrigerator. He took out his eggs and a stick of butter. “I told you it’s not a big deal. The hunter was out of control. Chris was already looking for him. I just volunteered to help.”

 

Stiles settled on a too-tall barstool. “Wait, wait. You played bait for Argent?”

 

“I was in the area.”

 

Derek lit his stove and cracked his eggs. The whole scene was so domestic that Stiles rubbed his eyes again. “In the area,” Stiles said slowly. “Here? Why?”

 

Derek paused and looked him over with a frown. “I thought we could handle this without telling you -.”

 

“Telling me what?”

 

“- but I’ve been watching you for a week and haven’t seen anything. You’re careful enough in this city. The hunter didn’t even know who you were.”

 

“Why would he know -?”

 

Derek’s voice was frustrated and he whipped the eggs hard. “Watching hasn’t gotten me anywhere, and Lydia says it’s getting closer.”

 

Stiles put two fingers in his lips and whistled as loud as he could. One of his neighbors threw something at their shared wall, but Derek finally stopped talking. Instead, he paused for a just moment before continuing his cooking in silence.

 

Stiles didn’t ask for an explanation again. He got what he needed with that fateful name: Lydia. She was a great friend, smart and sassy. Who wouldn’t want a Lydia? However, there were some things nobody wanted to hear from Lydia. “Trouble,” he said. “You thought I’d be in trouble because Lydia’s worried.” Derek had poured the eggs in the pan, but he glanced over his shoulder at Stiles with a soft look and a nod. “Right. Of course. Lydia’s predicting my death.”

 

“It’s not going to happen,” said Derek.

Stiles began to tap one finger on the countertop. He had gotten used to the possibility of death in Beacon Hills, but staring it in the face felt a little different each time. With no immediate threat around, he just felt like he was that doomed character in every scary movie. Nobody knew how that side character was going  to die, but it was coming.“What exactly did Lydia say?”

 

“She said we just have to stay ahead.”

 

“Of what?”

 

“Death.”

\--

 

_At 20, Stiles ran with a crowd of people while the world fell down around him. There was another earth-shattering crash that made the ground shake beneath his feet. His foot slipped on loose gravel and he fell forward, his hands and knees smacking the ground painfully. A hand grabbed the back of his jacket and hoisted him up. His feet were already moving before he was even fully vertical._

_Derek could move faster without him, he knew, but he dragged him along. His eyes desperately searched the area in front of him, head twisting this way and that, and sometimes they would slide to a stop to change direction. It was hopeless, Stiles thought, but he ran hard anyway._

_He didn’t want to die._

\--

 

“Do you think it’s going to be werewolf stuff?” Stiles called from his room. He was in bed again, his day off consisting of watching television while Derek compulsively checked the windows and doors. They’d each laid down ridiculously early and with no intention of sleeping.

 

From the couch, Derek called back, “It’s not going to be anything, Stiles.”

 

Stiles continued like Derek hadn’t answered. “It could be normal. This is Gotham. There’s like a million crimes a day.”

 

“You’re gonna be fine. Go to sleep.”

 

“People die creatively too. For all we know, a ninja could bust through my window right now.”

 

There was creaking as Derek got up from the couch. He came into the room with his thin blanket and pillow. He tossed it on the bed beside Stiles and fell back onto them hard enough to make Stiles bounce. “I’m not yelling back and forth with you,” Derek explained.

 

Stiles turned his head to the side and found Derek in the same position, on his back with his face turned toward Stiles. “How’d you even get this job?” he asked.

 

“Lydia hasn’t told anyone else. She thinks it's supposed to be me who stops this. It's my job.”

 

Stiles squinted at Derek. He was still looking at Stiles, expression relaxed. “Okay. Why’d you take the job.”

 

Derek rolled his eyes again. “I don’t want you to die, Stiles.”

 

“You don’t even know when it’s going to happen,” Stiles pointed out. “You signed up for indefinite guard duty. That must suck.”

 

Derek gave a small shake of his head. “It doesn’t. It was… It was good seeing you again.” He finally looked away, up at the ceiling. “You’re doing good. I saw you running to classes, how much time you spend at the library. I saw your job, saw you walking your boss home with a bat at night.” He shook his head again, smiling reluctantly. “Still a bat, huh?”

 

“Not everyone has claws and fangs.”

 

“You can get a gun.”

“Take a second and imagine me with a gun.”

 

Derek took a second. Then, he laughed. They were large, bed-shaking laughs that showed all his teeth and turned his eyes into slits. It was a contagious life, and Stiles pressed his lips together to prevent himself from joining in. “That,” said Derek, breathlessly, “Is a good point.”

 

“Not that good,” Stiles argued. “I think I can handle a gun. I want a gun now.”

 

Derek looked at him again, still smiling with bits of his teeth showing. “Just stick with your bat. If there’s anything too big for that, I’ll handle it. Indefinite guard duty, remember?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s us. In a small apartment together. Indefinitely”

Derek’s smile faded into something tense. “You’re right. I might kill you.” Stiles met his expression with raised brows until Derek cracked and chuckled.  “God, Stiles, you don’t even believe that. When did I stop being scary?”

 

“When I called you ‘Miguel’ and you didn’t kill me. Now, you’re trying to save my life.”

 

“I’m going to save your life.”

 

“‘Do or do not. There is no try,’” said Stiles in a shaky Yoda voice.

 

Derek yanked his own pillow out from under his head and smacked Stiles in the face with it.

 

That’s when the television went back on...and Stiles’ phone...and the computer. “My name is General Zod. I come from a world far from yours.”

\--

 

_They slid to another stop. Derek dragged him to the left and into a building. Stiles was stumbling down a flight of stairs before he recognized the subway station. There were already others inside, running down the tunnels and crouching along the walls. When they reached the last steps, they skidded to a stop again. Derek’s hand squeezed his until the bones grinded._

_Two people fell through the glass roof. They hit the first landing and rubble rained down._

\--

 

“Surrender in twenty-four hours or watch this world suffer the consequences,” played on the news again and again.

 

“If this is how it happens,” said Stiles, “what a way to go.”

 

“That’s not funny,” said Derek.

 

“The part I don’t get is why Lydia was only talking about my death. If the world’s ending in an alien-induced disaster, that’s going to take out a lot of people.”

 

Derek paced which, in Stiles’ living room, meant taking three stops and turning around. “Maybe she’s unconsciously controlling it. That’s a lot of death to take in. Maybe she’s focusing in on who she knows.” He stopped pacing. “We should leave.”

 

“Leave where? The world’s ending,” Stiles’ answer was flippant, but he’d called his dad three times since the message. His dad was still halfway hoping it was all a hoax. Before his life got turned upside down by werewolves and banshees, he would have swore it was a hoax, possibly orchestrated by Stiles himself. “Where do you go when the world’s ending? I’ve seen movies like this, but I got nothing.”

 

“It doesn’t matter where we go. We just need to get out of the big cities. That’s the first target.”

 

“Someone knows their disaster movies.”

“Stiles!” Derek snapped. Stiles was patting his own legs in a quick, uneven beat. Derek sat on the coffee table in front of him. He held him still at the wrists. “You need to focus. We have to get out of here.”

 

Stiles nodded at the television and answered, “How?”

 

Derek turned and saw the newscast of Gotham, freeways and ferries packed with people heading out of the big city. The citizens of Gotham came in two varieties: One was the crazy lifer who would be skulking around Gotham’s alleys and warehouses until the place sank under the water. The second was the survivor, who lived every day in Gotham knowing when to run.

 

“Just pack a bag.” Derek reached up to cup Stiles’ neck, pulling him forward until they were face to face with a foot between them. “I told you I’d handle it, and I will.”

 

Stiles nodded even though he didn’t believe it for a second. Good old Derek tried and failed. He’d gotten better since they met, but there were just some facts of life that were near impossible to escape.

 

Derek squeezed his neck. He repeated, “I’ll handle it.” He didn’t sound sure.

 

“I already agreed.”

 

“You didn’t mean it,” said Derek. “Don’t forget I know when you’re lying.”

 

Stiles reached up and held onto Derek’s forearm. “You told me I was going to die this morning. Now, this happened. You gotta know how crappy my chances look.”

 

“So you’re just going to give up?” Derek asked, one eyebrow raising. “That’s it. You survive Beacon Hills but you’re going to lay down and die here?”

 

“I’m not giving up,” Stiles insisted, offended by the idea. Stiles did a lot of inadvisable things, but giving up on life had never been one of them. He fought even when everything said he’d lose. It was his thing. “I know my odds, but I always keep playing. You know me, right?”

 

Derek laughed again, and Stiles would have to add it to his record of Derek laughs because it was something he never seen before. There was hardly any sound, just short bursts of breath and parted, quirked lips. “Yeah, I know you,” he muttered. “You don’t give up and you don’t die. You’re too much of a pain in the ass for that.”

 

Stiles catalogued that laugh under ‘slips that prove you’re secretly his favorite person.’ Over the years, there were more slips. Over the years, Derek became more likely to admit to those slips. “You know you...like me,” said Stiles, daring. If he had a day left to live, he could admit a few things too.

 

Derek’s fingers curled tighter around Stiles neck. He leaned in until his lips brushed Stiles’.

\--

 

_Derek had tried. It had taken a while, but they got out of Gotham and had some time to get out of Metropolis - if there was a full 24 hours. Somehow, neither of them had thought that maybe the evil aliens just lied._

_They still moved forward, but the ground cracked beneath their feet. Derek shoved Stiles forward, crashing down on top of him as pieces of the floor exploded upward and rained back down. He curled an arm around Stiles’ middle. They crawled and scuttered with hands and feet as the floor continued to shake, as the room began to warm up and red light reflected off the lamps. The aliens were talking, yelling, at each other. Stiles and Derek hit a corner, rubble blocking their path in one direction and a burning beam sliding toward them. Derek pushed him closer to the wall, chest pressed to his back and arms encircling him like the werewolf shield would save Stiles, at least._

_“STOP!” Stiles heard, but the heat didn’t lessen. He dropped his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes._

_CRACK!_

\--

 

“I like you,” Derek agreed.

 

Stiles licked his lips. “Yeah. I couldn’t even tell.”

 

Derek gave him that soundless laugh again. “I’ll tell you more later. I’ll tell you a lot more later.” He leaned back. “We just need to be alive for that.”

 

“I’ll be alive,” said Stiles, smacking his lips together and clasping his hands. “I will be alive for that conversation and any of the stuff that may or may not happen after. No alien is getting in the way of that. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

\--

 

_The room went eerily silent. There was still breathing, somebody breathing hard from farther away and Derek breathing clearly but lightly into his ear. There were sounds after, yelling and sobbing. Stiles didn’t open his eyes. He ran his fingers across Derek’s forearm to his hand. He fit his fingers between Derek’s. Derek’s head fell into the space between his neck and shoulder, lips pressing against his neck. He began to shake, tremors Stiles could feel at his back and across his stomach where an arm still held him close._

_Later, The Superman would get to his feet and approach them hesitantly, ask them if they were okay. Later, they would pull apart, their only point of contact Derek’s hand loosely holding Stiles’. Later, they’d call Lydia and she’d cry silently because a scream had lingered on the back of her throat for too long._

_Later._


End file.
